“Mmm, I don’t know if that is true.”
Gemma grins. “Okay, let’s brainstorm on duck dishes. I’m thinking we do something like a confit, cook it in its own fat.”
“Maybe a combo between duck confit and Peking duck?” Mebel suggests.
“Ooh, I love the sound of that! So, like, confit of duck but served in a Chinese crepe with hoisin sauce?”
“Something like that, yes.” Mebel feels the excitement fizzing inside her. She can tell already that their dish is going to be amazing, and the thought of it fills her with so much happiness that it quite bowls her over. She’s so unfamiliar with this feeling.
“I love it,” Gemma says. “We can crisp up the skin really well—”
“You know what I am thinking?” Mebel says. “I am thinking of fish skin, is very popular in Asia.”
“Fish skin?”
“Yes, we fry it until it is crispy like potato chips, and then we season with salted egg powder. Is so delicious, very addictive.”
Gemma looks dubious, but she nods anyway. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
“I wonder if maybe we can do the same with the duck skin. Sprinkle some salted egg yolk powder onto it. Give it that umami taste.”
Gemma continues to look dubious. “I mean, I’m not gonna knock anything until I’ve tried it. I’ve tasted some combinations that I thought wouldn’t work, but they ended up pairing beautifully, so I’m keeping an open mind.”
Mebel smiles, struck by how much affection she feels toward this girl. “I think we going to win this competition.”
“Oh, heck yeah, Mebs. We’re going to crush it!”
Apparently, the other teams feelexactly the same way, like they’re going to destroy the competition, because the following day, when Mebel goes to class, everyone is staring down everyone else with obvious animosity.
“Good morning, Bruce,” she says as she passes by Bruce’s workstation.
In answer, Bruce merely snorts and turns away. Mebel doesn’t think anything of it, because Bruce behaves like a wounded Chihuahua most days. What catches her attention is Adam, who, when she greets him, merely spares a quick glance in her direction and says, “Hey,” before turning back to study his notes.
Mebel ignores the alarm going off inside her and greets Bella.Bella has been partnered up with Adam to do the red meat course, and Mebel has no doubt that between the two of them, they are going to come up with something genius. But now, Bella just turns away from Mebel with a muttered “Morning.”
Mebel takes her spot at her workstation. As she sharpens her knives, she scans the room, taking note of all of the students in there. The atmosphere in the kitchen this morning is tense, everyone lost in their own worlds, scowls being worn and nothing being said. She can’t wait for Gemma to arrive so she can talk to her about it. Or at the very least, she can make very obvious looks aimed at Gemma to communicate the strangeness of the morning.
“All right, class,” Chef Clarke says. “This morning, I would like you to go over your proposed dish and present a description of it to me.”
At this, everybody gets to work, going into their respective partnerships and murmuring in low voices, as though deathly afraid that anyone is going to listen in on their conversations. Mebel swears that not even CIA operatives would behave in such a secretive manner. Whenever she turns her head to look in a certain direction, the students in that vicinity hunch their shoulders more and lower their voices while glaring at her.
My goodness, Mebel thinks.What is everyone’s problem?
Well, it’s obvious, really, isn’t it?her brain replies.They’re all scared that you’re going to steal their ideas.
But we all have different courses assigned to us, she argues.
Yes, but even within each course, you could use similar methods to cook your ingredients. And you could deliberately ruin the taste of the next course, for example, by serving artichokes inyour dish when you know the next course is going to be a white fish, which would alter its taste.
I wouldn’t do anything like that, Mebel thinks furiously.
I know that, but do they know that?
Mebel looks around at the toxic atmosphere in the kitchen and sighs. No, she does not know that, and worse still, she does not know that no one else in the class would stoop so low, especially when the prize is this meaningful.
She settles back in her seat, twirling her pen for a while, gazing at the door, willing Gemma to come through it. It is now fifteen minutes since the class officially started. It isn’t like Gemma to run so late to class. Mebel stares down at the blank piece of paper in front of her. She writesDuckat the top, then underlines it. After an excruciating minute crawls by, she writesConfit/Pekingunderneath it. When she looks up, she jumps. Chef Clarke is right next to her.
“Mebel,” he says by way of greeting.
